Dajaj Mouhamr: Roasted Chicken Simmered in Preserved Lemon Sauce
Dajaj Mouhamr is simple yet flavorful dish, that conjures up images of old Morocco, souks, and family celebrations. Try this dish to impress your family on a special occasion.

One of my favorite dishes to cook and serve my family is one that I learned as sort of a rite of passage when I was only twelve years old. I distinctly remember one morning being awoken by my mother’s footsteps as she approached my bed. She stood at the edge of the bed and announced that I’d be going to the souk with her that morning. Even though, like any other youngster, I would rather have stayed in bed, the souk was too much for me to pass up. In almost every Moroccan village and city, the souk is the marketplace where everyone does their major shopping. There are small neighborhood stores that stock at least one of almost everything that a person might need—just like convenience stores in America—but souks offer an endless variety of the best of everything. This particular day was even more special: it was the Eid Al-Fitr holiday, which marks the end of the Islamic holy month of Ramadan. It is one of the most celebrated holidays in Morocco, when people exchange gifts and gather together for festive meals. The day begins early with many Muslims heading to their local mosque for a morning Eid sermon and prayer, and many women headed to the souk to buy special foods for the midday meal.
My mom always made Dajaj Mouhamr for the Eid Al-Fitr midday meal lunch. Djaj Mouhamr is roasted chicken simmered in preserved lemon sauce until mouth-wateringly tender. The dish was an Eid Al-Fitr family tradition and the day that she woke me up to go with her to the souk was no exception—we were headed there to buy what we needed for Dajaj Mouhamr, all of the other dishes, and for special treats. I held her hand—because I wanted to and not because I had to—as we walked the mile to the souk through narrow passageways and crowded streets. A trip to the souk was always more than just a shopping trip—it was that and a social outing. My mother’s family had been in Oujda for generations and our family name was well-known, so it was inevitable that she would stop and chat with people was we made our way to and from the souk on our shopping trips. As a youngster, the frequent interruptions were a bit of an annoyance, but now, when I look back, I realize that I had a lot to be proud of. As we walked along, I could tell that we were getting closer to the souk from the way that the streets became more crowded and the noises of everyday Moroccan life became louder. Finally, the ancient city wall that marked the main entrance to the souk came into sight.
Each part of the souk has its own “department.” There weren’t any signs or other means of marking off the different departments. It was just known that one part of the souk was for clothes, another for cookware, another for spices, and so on. Even though I had been to the souk many times before, I was always amazed at my mother’s ability to find her way around, passing by rows and rows of tiny shops and stalls. Our first stop was the butcher’s stall. There were a few butchers but my mother always went to the same on. Shoppers had their favorite butchers, thinking that if they frequented their favorite, they would get fresher cuts of meat at better prices. This day, there was no doubt that our meat would be fresh because almost all poultry was butchered to order. My mother pointed at one particular chicken in the cage that caught her eye as the best one and asked the butcher to prepare it for her.
There’s a lot to be said for not having to experience the “butchering” part of buying packaged meat at a grocery store. But in Morocco and when I was young, it was normal to buy live goats, chickens, and rabbits that you either butchered yourself or had them butchered for you as you waited. Despite it being common, I didn’t have the heart or stomach as the butcher grabbed the unlucky chicken out of its cage and quickly dispatched it. After the worst part was over, I sneaked a peak as the butcher put the dead chicken under hot water and removed its feathers. It was only a few minutes before my mother was on her way with a freshly butchered chicken wrapped in paper.
As we were walking back home, mom admitted to me the reason she brought me with her. She said she wanted me to learn how to cook Dajaj Mouhamr from start to end and tomorrow I was the one in charge of all the preparation. The feeling was overwhelming. I felt like I became a woman now that I have earned my mom’s trust. After all it is one of the best meals of the year. I am going to share with you what I made my family that day with my mom guiding me through the preparations.
Ingredients

One of my favorite dishes to cook and serve my family is one that I learned as sort of a rite of passage when I was only twelve years old. I distinctly remember one morning being awoken by my mother’s footsteps as she approached my bed. She stood at the edge of the bed and announced that I’d be going to the souk with her that morning. Even though, like any other youngster, I would rather have stayed in bed, the souk was too much for me to pass up. In almost every Moroccan village and city, the souk is the marketplace where everyone does their major shopping. There are small neighborhood stores that stock at least one of almost everything that a person might need—just like convenience stores in America—but souks offer an endless variety of the best of everything. This particular day was even more special: it was the Eid Al-Fitr holiday, which marks the end of the Islamic holy month of Ramadan. It is one of the most celebrated holidays in Morocco, when people exchange gifts and gather together for festive meals. The day begins early with many Muslims heading to their local mosque for a morning Eid sermon and prayer, and many women headed to the souk to buy special foods for the midday meal.
My mom always made Dajaj Mouhamr for the Eid Al-Fitr midday meal lunch. Djaj Mouhamr is roasted chicken simmered in preserved lemon sauce until mouth-wateringly tender. The dish was an Eid Al-Fitr family tradition and the day that she woke me up to go with her to the souk was no exception—we were headed there to buy what we needed for Dajaj Mouhamr, all of the other dishes, and for special treats. I held her hand—because I wanted to and not because I had to—as we walked the mile to the souk through narrow passageways and crowded streets. A trip to the souk was always more than just a shopping trip—it was that and a social outing. My mother’s family had been in Oujda for generations and our family name was well-known, so it was inevitable that she would stop and chat with people was we made our way to and from the souk on our shopping trips. As a youngster, the frequent interruptions were a bit of an annoyance, but now, when I look back, I realize that I had a lot to be proud of. As we walked along, I could tell that we were getting closer to the souk from the way that the streets became more crowded and the noises of everyday Moroccan life became louder. Finally, the ancient city wall that marked the main entrance to the souk came into sight.
Each part of the souk has its own “department.” There weren’t any signs or other means of marking off the different departments. It was just known that one part of the souk was for clothes, another for cookware, another for spices, and so on. Even though I had been to the souk many times before, I was always amazed at my mother’s ability to find her way around, passing by rows and rows of tiny shops and stalls. Our first stop was the butcher’s stall. There were a few butchers but my mother always went to the same on. Shoppers had their favorite butchers, thinking that if they frequented their favorite, they would get fresher cuts of meat at better prices. This day, there was no doubt that our meat would be fresh because almost all poultry was butchered to order. My mother pointed at one particular chicken in the cage that caught her eye as the best one and asked the butcher to prepare it for her.
There’s a lot to be said for not having to experience the “butchering” part of buying packaged meat at a grocery store. But in Morocco and when I was young, it was normal to buy live goats, chickens, and rabbits that you either butchered yourself or had them butchered for you as you waited. Despite it being common, I didn’t have the heart or stomach as the butcher grabbed the unlucky chicken out of its cage and quickly dispatched it. After the worst part was over, I sneaked a peak as the butcher put the dead chicken under hot water and removed its feathers. It was only a few minutes before my mother was on her way with a freshly butchered chicken wrapped in paper.
As we were walking back home, mom admitted to me the reason she brought me with her. She said she wanted me to learn how to cook Dajaj Mouhamr from start to end and tomorrow I was the one in charge of all the preparation. The feeling was overwhelming. I felt like I became a woman now that I have earned my mom’s trust. After all it is one of the best meals of the year. I am going to share with you what I made my family that day with my mom guiding me through the preparations.
Ingredients
- 2 teaspoons paprika
- 1 teaspoon ground cumin
- 1 teaspoon ground ginger
- 1 teaspoon tumeric
- 1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
- 1/4 teaspoon freshly ground pepper
- 2 Tbsp olive oil
- 1 chicken, 3-4 lbs, cut into 8 pieces (or 3-4 lbs of just chicken thighs and legs, the dark meat is more flavorful)
- Salt
- 3 cloves garlic, minced
- 1 onion, chopped
- The peel from 1 preserved lemon, rinsed in cold water, pulp discarded, peel cut into thin strips
- 1 cup green olives, pitted
- 1/2 cup water
- 1/2 cup raisins
- 1/4 cup chopped fresh cilantro
- 1/4 cup chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley
- Combine all the spices in a large bowl. Pat dry the chicken pieces and put in the bowl, coat well with the spice mixture. Let the chicken stand for one hour in the spices.
- In a large, heavy bottomed skillet, heat the olive oil on medium high heat. Add the chicken pieces, sprinkle lightly with salt (go easy on the salt, the olives and lemons are salty), and brown, skin side down for five minutes. (If you are using a clay tagine, you will skip the browning step, heat only to medium heat and use a heat diffuser on the heating element to prevent the tagine from cracking.) Lower the heat to medium-low, add the garlic and onions. Cover and let cook for 15 minutes.
- Turn chicken pieces over. Add the lemon slices, olives, raisins, and 1/2 cup water. Bring to a simmer on medium heat, then lower the heat to low, cover, and cook for an additional 30 minutes, until the chicken is cooked through and quite tender.
- Mix in fresh parsley and cilantro right before serving. Adjust seasonings to taste.
- Serves 4 to 6.



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